Underbelly
by RebelWade
Summary: Missing Scenes from Underbelly
1. Chapter 1

I thought drinking would help get her off my mind, but it's making it worse. All I can think about now is how much heartier Olivia laughs when we drink together, how much she smiles, the deepest confessions we've made a few whiskies in.

I'm pissed that she left. I'm pissed she's still gone. I'm pissed that she hung up the minute I finally had her on the phone. I'm heartbroken that I've lost my best friend.

And yet, the fantasies won't stop.

So I'm going to force them to stop, make myself forget—with Dani Beck.

We're walking to the jeep as I'm making this decision and before she can get in I pull Dani into me and kiss her.

I pull back. It's nothing special. I don't really feel anything, and I know I'm leading her on. I'm an ass, but I need this. So I kiss her again and she responds, kissing me back.

It's going well until my phone rings. I go to turn it off, but it requires me to twist ever so slightly and I see the shadow of someone standing nearby. When I turn, I'm frozen in place.

Olivia.

Her hair is longer, her eyes are wide beneath new bangs, and her mouth is slightly agape.

"I… Sorry, I didn't know…" She turns to leave. "I'm sorry," she repeats.

"Liv!" I call to her and start to follow, then realize what she's just seen. I turn back to Dani. "I have to go, I'm sorry," I say, trying to maintain some semblance of being a gentleman, though I don't deserve it.

"Who is that?" Dani asks.

I'm already walking away and don't have time to answer if I want to catch up with Olivia.

I saw her walk into the bar, so I follow her there but can't find her. She seemed upset, so maybe she went to the other exit. I head out the front door and spot her half a block ahead, so I start running. "Liv, wait!"

She turns around and stops when she sees me. "El, go back to your date," she yells as I run to her. "Casey texted and told me where you guys were and I just… I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

I'm finally caught up on the street corner. "You _didn't_ interrupt anything," I explain, out of breath.

She huffs. "Well, in that case, I'd hate to be there when there IS something to interrupt…"

"I…" I have no idea what to say. I don't even want to explain. I want answers. I want to hug her. I want to kiss her. I want to be pissed at her. I decide Dani's not worth explaining and get to the important things. "You're back."

She blinks hard at the change in subject, then starts to turn away as if she is going to start walking again.

"Yeah, Elliot. I'm back." She takes a step, barely, before I grab her arm.

"Stop, Liv." My tone is harsher than I mean for it to be, but it gets her attention. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you been back in Manhattan?"

She takes a beat. "Does it matter?"

My brows furrow at the comment. _Does it matter?_ She's been gone for months and she doesn't think I want to know when she got back? "How. Long. Olivia?" I punctuate each word instead of getting hot-headed.

She never loses eye contact. "Two days."

My head bobs up and down in a nod. I wonder why she didn't call me right away, but I can't be that possessive. I want to know everything about her time away, but I'm still too pissed she left me in the first place. So, I just nod and say nothing.

"Elliot, go back to your date."

I scoff incredulously. Even though I know she just saw us kissing, the thought of dating Dani is laughable. "She wasn't my date, Liv, she's"—

"Your partner." She finishes the sentence before I can. "I know."

The implications hang in the air like a thick curtain between us. All the unspoken desire, especially after I split with Kathy… the only barrier being our partnership. I feel like I've betrayed her. My eyes soften, and my chest is begging me to profess my love, my want, my struggles without her. Why am I so goddam stubborn?

"It wasn't a date," I repeat. She rolls her eyes, and I can't blame her for not believing me.

"Get out of the way!" A man yells loudly as he shoves into my back. I realize we're on the corner of an intersection and there are swarms of people passing by. I didn't even notice them before. I pull her by the arm and walk until I can find a more private place to talk.

"El, I should just go—"

She's startled when I find a hidden spot between two apartment buildings and pull her between me and the brick wall. We're not touching, but I unintentionally left very little space between us. Something about the proximity is intimate, and I can feel the vulnerability shift. The dark alley mixed with our closeness feels more… honest.

I take a few minutes to gather all the thoughts and emotions swirling around my head. We're quiet for a while, taking each other in, trying to find words.

I hear her take a breath and feel air against my neck as it leaves her lungs. "I missed you," she whispers.

The words allow me to let out the breath I was holding. I lean my hand against the wall next to her, determined to focus on the brick. Looking at her is too confusing right now. "Me too," I say. I take another few beats before I try to put words to what I've wondered since she left. "After… After you came back from computer crimes…" I don't exactly know what I am asking or implying, but it has to be said. "I thought we were good… I thought we had…" She's quiet and I don't feel like I'm explaining well. "I know we fought and I screwed up and you left so we could have some time apart, but when you came back, I thought we were fine."

"We were." She says it so simply.

"Then why did you leave again?"

My eyes are adjusting to the darkness and I look down at her just as a smirk forms on her face. "I know this might come as a shock to you, Stabler, but not everything is about you."

I meet her at her smile and laugh lightly.

"It really was a sudden assignment. You know how Dana is."

"So, I wasn't a dick?"

"I didn't say that." It's a small laugh that she lets out, but it's good to hear. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to say goodbye."

I nod to acknowledge her apology. It was something I needed more than I knew. "You're here now."

Tension grows in my neck when I feel the need to explain what she saw minutes ago. I bring my hand to the crevasse of my neck and shoulder and start to rub.

"It's none of my business, Elliot. You don't have to explain."

I rear my head back slightly. "How do you know what I'm going to say?"

"You're not so hard to read…" she says. "Plus, I've had eight years of practice."

I nod. "But it _is_ your business."

Her head shakes before she turns it away from my stare. She focuses on the people passing by on the street outside our nook.

"Dani was going to be an escape. A… substitute. I just needed…"

Her face is still turned away, but I see her eyes close. "To forget?" she whispers. "Yeah, I get it."

My chest burns a little as I see her thinking of someone she escaped with. I want to kill him—whoever he is. And I want to yell at her for going around fucking some nobody. But I know I can't show my jealousy. No matter how much I think she's acknowledging that she needed to forget about me too. "Dani's a good cop, Liv, but she's… dispensable." I'm terrified of what I'm about to say, what it means, but it's the truth. "Losing her as a partner or… as _anything_ would mean nothing to me…" I bring my hand to her chin and turn her face towards me. I use every ounce of will-power not to kiss her. "But you…" If she only knew how careful I've been over the years not to do anything stupid with her that would break up our partnership. "I can't lose you, Liv. Not again."

I see the understanding form in her eyes, sadness with it. I'm begging God right now that she really does get it. If I lost everything with Dani over one reckless night, none of it would matter. But Olivia is so much more. "Okay," she breathes out.

My eyes flick down to her lips and I miss them, the smile they form, the sass they speak, and I know I'm about to negate my entire speech because I need to kiss her. I've never needed anything so much.

But Olivia bows her head, her lips no longer easily accessible to me. "Please don't," she says. "Not if we…" Her voice trails off.

I close my eyes and shake my head the tiniest bit, trying to snap myself out of it. "I'm sorry," I say. I've just missed her so much that it's hard for me to pull away from this closeness. I want more, I've always wanted more, but seeing her after such a long absence makes her harder to resist. My hands need to touch her, my legs need to walk in step with her, my heart just wants to be close to her. I don't want her to go home yet. "Can I buy you a drink?" I finally ask.

She looks up, one eyebrow peaking quizzically. "Didn't you just leave the bar?"

I shrug. "Drinking with co-workers hasn't been the same lately."

She considers me for a moment, her lips pressed in a straight line, then she nods. "But I'm not in the mood for a crowd anymore. Let's just go to my place."


	2. Chapter 2

"And Munch didn't even question it?" Olivia asks, a few drinks later.

"He's Munch," I say. "Of course he questioned it! He thought the guy had every phone in New York City bugged!"

I keep my eyes on Olivia's face as she laughs. God, that smile… I take another sip of whiskey. "The guys are gonna be so glad to see you," I tell her.

"Me too. I missed them. It was good to see Cragen today."

My head lifts a little higher at the statement. "When did you see Cragen?"

She swallows a mouthful of her drink and looks over at me with wide eyes, like she realized she told me something she shouldn't. "Oh," she says. "I, uh… I stopped by the House today."

My eyes narrow. "You did? When?"

"You were in an interrogation."

I think over the day, confusion probably clouding my judgement as anger starts to stir again, but I push it back. "The only interrogations I had today were short. Why didn't you stay?"

Her head shakes in tiny softly and her eyes close. "I don't know, I just…"

"Liv…"

"I saw you."

My chest starts to pound, and I take a deep breath to stay calm and force the redness not to reach my face. I'm trying not to read into the reasons why she would just leave without saying something to me.

"I was in the office when you came out of an interrogation and I saw you… with her." She keeps her eyes on her hands that hold her drink, refusing eye contact. She shrugs. "You seemed… comfortable with each other."

I continue to stare at the side of her face as I nod. "It took a while, but we found a decent rhythm."

She fakes a smile. "And you don't exactly get along with everybody, El. I didn't want to interrupt that. Like I did tonight."

"I don't want anyone else." I meant _as a partner_ when I said it, but I don't correct the double meaning.

I know she catches it because she nods, staring at her hands. This is about the time one of us would cut the silence with something more lighthearted or turn the conversation to a case—a safe topic. One of my arms is slung over the back of the couch and I'm facing her when I look down, notice the way her jeans fit her thighs, one leg tucked underneath her. She's dressed modestly, but somehow her tee shirt hugs her waist and breasts in a way that make it almost impossible not to let my hands roam, an impulse I've kept myself from for eight years. Her tanned collar bone is exposed, decorated by a familiar _fearlessness_ necklace. When I make it past her lips, up to her eyes, I realize she's been watching me ogle her. An embarrassed apology is on my tongue, but she beats me to it and speaks first.

"You have no idea what it does to me when you look at me like that," she whispers.

I was expecting a reprimand, a verbal slap in the face. Not _that_. Her face flushes when she realizes what she said, and she turns away, stands, and walks toward the kitchen. My mind reels at what she just revealed. It's always been safe for me to assume I was reading into things, but she just tore down the veil of safety. We can't keep skirting around this.

I follow her to the kitchen. "Should we talk about it?" I ask.

"About what?"

"About what we both know but are somehow still not talking about."

Her back is facing me as she finishes pouring more whiskey and sets both the bottle and her glass in front of her. She doesn't turn back around. "I don't think we should," she says softly.

"Why?"

She leans onto the countertop more. "Because it… It'll make it too hard."

I take a few more steps and stop a foot away. "Liv…"

Finally, she turns. "Please?" I swear I see fear in her eyes, maybe even panic, pleading with me. "Can we please just not say it? Not make it real?"

I understand the fear. I understand the need for silence. It's the same reasons we've kept from talking about it for the entirety of our partnership. But the door to my left also isn't an option right now. It's when her head lowers with the quiver of her chin that I realize she's falling apart and I instinctively step in and embrace her, a little confused.

"Hey…" I whisper. "What's wrong? What is it?" Her head is on my chest as I hear a sniff, but her hands haven't fully accepted the embrace, resting in fists at my sides. I know now that I was right in never hugging her before tonight. She already feels good and she hasn't even hugged me back.

After a moment, her head shakes and she lifts it, but I don't let go of her, as I think she was intending for me to do. She looks down at my chest. "Nothing," she says, shakiness in her voice. "Sorry." She still won't look at me, but she hasn't physically pushed me back yet either. I watch her sad expression, her eyes boring a hole into my sternum, her parted lips as she takes deep breaths to calm herself.

One of my hands makes its way to her cheek and my thumb swipes away a small tear. "I can't lose you again," I tell her for the second time tonight, and I realize I'm still scared of that happening, of her running again, leaving me.

Another breath and she responds, "Then why haven't you stepped away?"

I wonder if she can see the way my heart speeds up at the comment, shocked by the way she brought back my comment about how Dani was fair game because she was dispensable. She's putting things into perspective, reminding me of the repercussions if we do this, but I can't quite see straight. Not after all that time apart, not after embracing her for the first time in our partnership, or after multiple insinuations about our feelings tonight. Stepping away has to be her decision because I can't do it on my own volition right now.

"Do you want me to?" I ask. And I mean it. If she wants me to step away, as painful as it may be, I'll bear it for her.

She finally, slowly, looks up at me. But it's only seconds before her eyes close tightly and she whispers, "No."

My heart rips, the pain of not being able to take this further and the comfort of her softening posture wage war inside me. Her balled hands at my sides loosen and a shiver of goosebumps runs up my back when her hands flatten and slide around me. I step in, impossibly closer, and pull her back into my chest, closing my own eyes at the sensation of her touch. I notice the softness of her breasts against my upper abdomen, and as I dip my head and breath her in, the scent that is so uniquely and familiarly her breaks the restraint of my arousal. I know it's forming and I can't seem to find the will to care. I imagine my hands slipping between us, feeling her stomach, slipping them up to fill as much of my hands as I can with her breasts.

I push it back, breathing deeply as I try to control my thoughts. But then she sucks in a breath and unbeknownst to me, my hands have roamed, and one made its way under her shirt, my palm on the warm skin of her lower back. I wonder how to do this—How to step away from her. How to stop what's happening and leave her alone tonight. God, I need to know what's going through her head.

"What do we do now?" she whispers into my shirt, beating me to the question, her hands sliding over my back as she nuzzles deeper into me.

"It's up to you," I say.

Her head shakes. "Don't put this on me. I… I need to know what you're thinking."

She's right. She's been so forthcoming tonight, so much more honest, and I'm still making her be the bold one. I need to be straightforward, tell her how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking.

Even if I get slapped for it.

Her head lifts, but just a few inches, her chin against my shoulder, her head against my cheek. I feel her hands dig into me with just a bit more pressure. "Please, talk to me."

I let out my breath and focus on the kitchen cabinets in front of me. "I'm thinking…" I try to think of some way to candy coat it, at least a little. But I come up empty. "God, Liv, I'm thinking I don't want to step away from you. Ever. And I'm thinking I don't know what to do because I never want to lose you again, but _fuck,_ I'm thinking of every single one of your curves my hands want to feel right now."

Her breath is labored, and I'm startled by my own confession. But not half as shocked as when she replies with a whispered, "Me too." She brings her head back to look at me. "I want you too."

There's so much that I want to do and say, but all I can seem to do is drift forward, and my lips land directly onto hers. It's light, soft, and intense. Then, it's out of my chest before I can stop it. "I'm so in love with you, Liv," I hiss as she rests her forehead against mine.

Her already-closed eyes tighten more. "Don't say it," she says. She brings her hands to my neck and holds me in place. "We survive this because we don't say it."

I sigh into her. "Okay."

Her grip on me loosens and my entire body starts to deflate, knowing this is about to end. It feels like a death, but it's the only way to keep our partnership alive.

"You should go," she says. "Before…"

I nod. "Yeah." I step back from her and just stare. A sad smile forms on her lips. "You'll be back at work soon?"

She takes a deep breath. Exhales. "Give me a couple days. But yeah, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

It makes me laugh. "Trust me, nothing about you is easy."

We're careful not to touch as I leave, our goodbyes drawn out with longer looks and half-hearted smiles. Something in my chest aches as I walk out onto the streets of New York. I have no idea how we will move past whatever just happened, but we will. A call will come in and we'll jump into work, focus on the victims, take down the perps. Because that's where it all matters, that's where it all started, that's the singular reason we connected in the first place: justice.

Going further with Olivia would be selfish. It would sabotage what we have. Because maybe this ache is part of what makes us work, part of what drives us to do what we do. Maybe, along with talent, hard work, and passion, the ache is the defining ingredient to what makes us _us._

To what makes us Benson and Stabler.


End file.
